Time let me play and be

Visitation

Visitation

Winston had already seen several excellent costumes on the night he answered that fateful knock at his door. It was a good year for trick or treaters and many of the kids had gone to great lengths to appear as weird figments of their imaginations. So he was not completely surprised to see the group that waited on his doorstep. They were unusual, to say the least.

Although none of them were any larger than the trick or treaters he’d seen that night, there was something odd about them even so. They looked older. Size is not the only thing we look for when assessing the age of children but it is hard to say just what clues we notice that affect our estimations. And, with these kids, it was something in their eyes that made them seem much too worldly wise to be dressing up for Halloween.

Their faces, too, lacked any sign of the puppy fat that softens the features of the young. All of them looked thin and hungry, perhaps even attaining the description of “gaunt.”

They were dressed in ragged clothes, dingy in hue and dirty, as though they had rolled about fighting in the dust before assembling as a group. One wore a battered old top hat, another an ancient aviator’s cap and goggles. The one standing at the front held a tall stick with a flickering lantern at its tip. He was the one who now spoke to Winston.

“Trick or treat,” he intoned without expression or enthusiasm. His voice was hollow and seemed to echo into the silence that followed.

It was enough to spur Winston into action, however. He turned to grab the bowl of candies waiting on the small table next to the door. Before handing them out, however, he asked a question.

“What are you guys supposed to be?”

“Fears,” replied their leader. Winston looked puzzled and the little fellow continued, “We are the things that others fear.”

“And why would they do that?” asked Winston.

The leader shook his head. “You don’t understand. We are those things. My name is Poverty. All fear me.”

Turning he pointed at the tallest of their number, the gaunt one. “He is called Starvation.”

Then he pointed at each of the others in turn. “This one with the pale face is Sickness. And my friend here is named Thirst. Cold is the shivering one with the blue nose. Him at the back is Fatigue and the lady holding his hand is Dementia.”

He turned his gaze back on Winston. “Trick or treat,” he repeated in his dull, monotone.

On his part, Winston was more fascinated than repelled by these revelations. “So you are the actual manifestations of these things?” When Poverty nodded, Winston continued, “And what will happen if you have to trick instead of getting a treat?”

Poverty sneered. “I’d have thought that was obvious.”

Winston saw in his eyes that he was deadly serious. The temptation to withhold the treats was still there, but good sense prevailed. He lowered the bowl so that the grubby hands of his visitors could take what that wanted. They cleaned out the bowl, stuffing the candies into unseen pockets within their rags.

And so the strange little creatures turned to go, Poverty leading the way with the lantern swinging from his stick. The last to go was Fatigue. He looked up at Winston and said in a gravelly voice, “Happy Halloween. Perhaps we’ll see you again some other night.”

Then he was gone into the dark with the others.


Word count: 694
For “13,” 10.31.24
Prompt: “We are the things that others fear.” —Lestat, The Vampire Lestat